Greedy Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Should I place a bet?”

  “You’re frisky today for a man who’s had six hours’ sleep in the past week.”

  “I’ll tell him. And I found a photo of Erin Carlisle on her studio Web site. It’s printing now.”

  When I closed the phone, Cece looked at me. “Where is the real Erin Carlisle?”

  “A damn good question.” Likely one with a tragic answer, but I didn’t say that. “You were supposed to meet Erin at her studio. What happened?”

  Cece was now feeding herself, tired of waiting for my distracted attention to return to her gastrointestinal needs. “I called her when I got back from Memphis and asked for a meeting.”

  “And she agreed, even as late as it was? What time was it?”

  “One in the morning.” Spoon in midair, Cece paused. “She didn’t even blink at the time. And I didn’t consider it strange. I had a ten a.m. deadline, dahling, and I had bait to entice her. Jimmy Janks told me more about his development plans, which was what precipitated the argument in Memphis. I told her enough to whet her appetite and she instantly agreed to talk with me.”

  “Why at her studio?”

  “She said something about being on her way there anyhow—some phone call or something.” She frowned in concentration. “I got there a little early. The studio was locked tight, and then she arrived in the parking lot. She was slow getting out of her vehicle and waved me over, so I went to meet her.”

  An empty parking lot in the middle of the night in a city with a problem with violence. Right. Cece had been set up. But why? “I’m thinking whoever this woman is, she had Erin inside the studio. She’d already grabbed her.”

  Cece nodded. “My thoughts exactly. There was something strange going on. The front of the studio is plate glass, and I kept trying to see inside. I thought I saw movement in the back, but it wasn’t clear.”

  “But it would be enough to warrant an attack on you. This imposter had to have an accomplice. If we’re right, and Erin was being held in the back, then they had to neutralize you. They couldn’t chance that you’d seen something and would call the police.”

  “I wish I’d seen something important,” Cece said.

  “Maybe you did. First we make sure the woman you spoke with wasn’t Erin.”

  “Do you have any idea who’s behind this?” she asked before she spooned another dumpling down.

  “If I had to pick, I’d say Luther Carlisle. He stands to benefit from Erin’s disappearance. He’d hoped to inherit full control of the Carlisle lands upon the death of his parents, but Erin was named equally in the trust. If Erin dies, he’ll likely inherit and he can sell the plantation and pave it all.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll let him do that.”

  There was a knock at the door and Dewayne entered with a wry expression and a shake of his head for Cece. “You look like hell, Cece.”

  “Thank you, dahling. I’m undeniably hot, and I’m glad you see it.”

  He held out the photo to me, taking note of my engagement ring. He didn’t say a word, and I handed the photo to Cece.

  “That is not the woman I met in Jackson. The hair color is right, but the face is all wrong.”

  As I reached for the picture, Cece snatched it back. “Nonetheless, she does have the perfect nose for me. Sandra Bullock, but better. My doctor will want to see this.”

  “Just so long as you don’t get your priorities confused,” I said. “Dewayne, let me walk you to the patrol car. I have some ideas.”

  23

  Taureans are slow learners when it comes to the hard lesson of restraint. By nature, we want to bullishly charge into a situation and kick butt as fast and furious as our little legs will pedal. While extremely satisfying initially, this modus operandi often opens the door to the twin sisters, Grief and Remorse.

  Standing in the parking lot with Dewayne, I thought of my natural inclination to act and the consequences that could follow. A dust devil swirled across the asphalt, blowing a few of last winter’s brown pecan leaves along a slow path. In the distance, a mockingbird squawked hysterically. No doubt a cat was eyeing its nest.

  “What ever it is you’re thinking, don’t do it.” Dewayne opened the cruiser door and leaned against it.

  “I want to go to the Carlisle place.”

  “Sarah Booth, you won’t do anyone any good if you get sick like Oscar.”

  “True, but I intend to wear a hazmat suit.”

  “Yeah, they got a big sale on them down at the Casual Corner. Maybe get one in all colors for the summer season.”

  Dewayne’s wit had sharpened considerably. “I’ll borrow one from the CDC.”

  “They won’t even let Coleman use one,” Dewayne said. “He had to order one from the Feds.”

  “Could be because they don’t have one to fit him,” I pointed out. “I’m not but an inch taller than Bonnie Louise. I can use hers.”

  “Fat chance. The truth is the CDC has quarantined the plantation, and they aren’t going to let anyone on it. The sheriff hasn’t even been there and he has the inside track with Ms. McRae.”

  I ignored that comment. “The CDC can’t supersede county authority.”

  “That’s legally true,” Dewayne said. “Coleman invited them into Sunflower County, and they technically answer to him. But the real truth is they’ve shared very little information with him.” He frowned. “That woman is always poking around the sheriff’s office trying to find out what we know, but she hasn’t told us much of anything useful.”

  Dewayne had just tightened the knot around Bonnie Louise’s neck another notch. Coleman should have put it all together by now. He must have.

  “Dewayne, I’m going to the Carlisle plantation. There has to be something there. I’m telling you, because someone has to know. In case . . .”

  “In case you keel over with an unidentifiable illness that may fry your brain and destroy your lungs and heart?”

  “You ever thought about seeking a PR job promoting plagues, famines, and boils?”

  “As soon as Coleman returns, I’ll tell him where you are. Maybe he can figure out a way to talk some sense into you.” He gave me a hard look. “But I doubt it. Be sure your cell phone is charged and on.”

  I checked it while we were standing there. Months ago, Tinkie had insisted I carry one, and while it was a major pain in the butt, it did have its uses. “I’m good. Do you know where Bonnie Louise is right now?”

  “Haven’t a clue.”

  “If she shows up at the sheriff’s office, try to detain her. And I need for you to do a complete background check on her and Peyton Fidellas.” When I’d quickly checked their CDC employment records I hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but Dewayne had the authority of law. He could find out a lot more than I could.

  “Check both of them?” He was obviously seeing Bonnie Louise in the same light I did.

  “It can’t hurt. And you can play it like a regular background check, without arousing suspicion. If you only ask about one . . .”

  He nodded as he twisted his hat in his hands. “Be careful, Sarah Booth.”

  “I promise. Let Coleman know this about Erin.”

  He gave me a half salute and drove away. As I was walking back to the roadster, my phone rang. I snatched it out of my pocket, “Coleman!”

  “Wrong man. If I were the sensitive type, my feelings would be hurt.” Graf’s voice was steady and sure and gently teasing.

  “Graf! I didn’t expect to hear from you at this time.” I figured he’d be on the set shooting. “The ring—” To my utter surprise, my throat closed with emotion.

  “Are you really wearing it?” Graf’s voice was warm with humor.

  “I am. Tinkie, Millie, and Cece think it’s incredible.”

  “Then I’ve passed muster with the Zinnia Gang of Four. Whew! That’s a tough group.”

  His grace and wit eased me over the hump of emotion. “I wish you were here.”

  “It does my heart good to hear
you say that, Sarah Booth. You’re so independent, I don’t ever want to crowd you.”

  “I love you, Graf.” Those words, spoken over a cell phone to a man a thousand miles away, came more naturally than I’d ever expected.

  “I promise you, Sarah Booth, while in the past I may not have realized the incredible gift you’re offering me, I do now. I’ve never loved or wanted anyone or anything as much as I do you. I promise what ever you want or need in life, I’ll do my best to provide it.”

  How was it possible that while the world of Sunflower County was falling apart around me, I could feel such elation and joy? “We’ve traveled a long road, you and I. You’ve made me believe in ‘happy ever after’ endings.”

  “Now that’s a miracle.” Graf’s humor was perfectly on target, but this conversation deserved a face-to-face. The telephone, while an impressive instrument, wasn’t cutting it.

  “How is it that you’re calling me at this time in the morning?” The shooting schedule for his film was rigorous.

  “We’re on break. One of the horses got overheated, so they’re checking him over. We’re leaving for a location shoot in the desert in a couple of hours. We’ll be back tomorrow, but we’ll be out of touch for at least twenty-four.”

  “Is this the big chase scene?”

  “It is. They’ve already shipped the horses. Speaking of horses, how are Reveler and Miss Scrapiron?”

  “Good. I haven’t had much chance to ride. Things have been . . . busy here.” I was tempted to tell Graf of my plan, but it would only worry him needlessly.

  “Did you get a chance to read that script?”

  Damn it, I’d put it on the table beside the bar and hadn’t picked it up since. “I haven’t. Things are hectic, but I’ll look at it tonight.”

  “Just a gentle reminder, Sarah Booth.”

  Graf wasn’t applying pressure, but even as little as I knew about the movie business, I realized the producer would want to start the process of gathering the millions necessary to put a film together. The pieces of the business plan had to mesh all at once; the actors and actresses who signed on were an important element in raising the cash and garnering studio interest.

  “Tonight. We’ll talk about it later.” Instead of moving my car, I started to the health department on foot. It was only a short distance, and it was nice to walk and talk with Graf, to pretend that he was beside me.

  “We may take a break in filming next week. Are you up for a visit from your fiancé?”

  My heart lifted. “I’d like nothing better.”

  “Then I’ll make it so. Hey, they’re waving me back to the set. I love you, Sarah Booth Delaney.”

  “Don’t break your neck on a horse.” Damn. Now that I’d finally given him my heart, I felt totally vulnerable and at risk.

  “Horses are manageable. You don’t get crossways with a villain. I’m a lot safer here than you are. We don’t use real bullets, you know.”

  He made me smile, and I loved him even more for that.

  I was tripping up the steps to the temporary CDC offices in the health department when my cell phone rang again. This time it was Coleman.

  “No time to talk,” he said, and I heard the tension in his voice. “Sarah Booth, There’s something strange going on with Bonnie Louise’s mentor, Dr. Jon Unger. I did some checking and he didn’t exist until 1992.”

  “I told you he emigrated around that time. Did you check Germany?”

  “No such person exists. It’s like he was created out of whole cloth when he got his emigration papers.”

  “But he’s been teaching at Mississippi State University. Surely they checked his credentials.”

  “He was never on faculty. He’s been conducting research there. Boll weevil research. Private research.”

  “Bonnie didn’t tell you this?” I asked as gently as I could.

  “She told me a lot of things, but not once did she mention this private research.” His tone conveyed the chill of an iceberg.

  I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but I didn’t. For all of the truth that I sometimes ran my mouth recklessly, this was one time I wisely refrained. The idea of being used by someone who pretends romantic interest is a painful wound that only the owner can lance.

  There was an element I had to speak about. “Peyton thinks the illness may be related to mold. Has he spoken to you about it?

  “He has. That strange green cast to the weevils at the Carlisle plantation may play into this somehow.”

  I hadn’t seen it for myself, but I’d been told about it. “This could be the breakthrough we’re hoping for, Cole-man.” I hesitated. “You might want to check Bonnie Louise’s past.”

  “I’ve done that.” The silence stretched.

  “So what are you thinking?” He had to say it.

  “Bonnie Louise is my prime suspect. Have you seen her today?”

  “I haven’t. Where are you, Coleman?”

  “I’m on the trail of a criminal,” he said. “I’ll speak with you in person before long.”

  There was the click of a disconnect and he was gone. I had my answer. Bonnie Louise was in his sights now, and no matter what he felt for her, Coleman would arrest her. Perhaps the whole ordeal for Oscar and the others was coming to a close.

  “I need to borrow a hazmat suit.” I sat in Peyton’s office with the door closed.

  He got up and left the office, returning with what I presumed to be Bonnie Louise’s suit. “Be careful,” he said, handing it to me.

  “You aren’t going to try to stop me?” This was a surprising twist. I’d figured he’d attempt to argue me out of my stated intention of examining the Carlisle property.

  “I’ve searched every inch of that place. Maybe you can see something I’ve missed. We have to conclude this business. I’ll go with you, if you like, but first I want to take this information to Doc.” A grin spread across his face.

  “Hot damn! You found an answer!”

  His right eyebrow arched. “At least a partial answer, and one that spawns more questions.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The mold is a variant of a common species. That’s what stumped me for so long—it isn’t extraordinary. Yet in this instance, it’s incredibly toxic.”

  “Where does it come from?” I asked. If we could find the source, then we’d have a better chance of uncovering how all of this happened—and possibly how to reverse it.

  He picked up some reports from his desk. “It’s too early to say. Doc will have to answer that, not me. He’s the medical expert. What I can tell you is that the mold I’ve studied, taken from the weevils, produces spores, and mycotoxins.” When I started to interrupt, he held up his hand. “Sarah Booth, the government has been studying molds for use in biological warfare.”

  “Holy crap.” In the research on Dr. Unger, I’d learned that he’d been involved in government work. The implications of this case extended far beyond Sunflower County and the revenge machinations of Bonnie Louise McRae. If she was actually behind this, then she’d opened Pandora’s box. “Have you called Homeland Security?”

  “Not yet. I want to discuss this with Doc and the sheriff.” He straightened some folders on his desk. “Mold is extremely difficult to diagnose. In cases of mold-induced deaths, there’s often no evidence found in an autopsy.”

  “Was this mold created in a lab or did it . . . sprout naturally?”

  “Impossible to say at this time,” Peyton said. “It could have mutated on its own, but that honestly doesn’t matter. What is of importance is how quickly we can organize against it.”

  “How do you treat mold? In a person.”

  “That’s a complicated issue. The delivery method needs to be determined, whether ingested or inhaled. That’s why I need to talk to Doc.”

  “Time’s a’wastin’,” I said, already on my feet and at the door. “Let’s tell him so he can begin to find a way to help the sick people. And we have to find a way to stop this right now. Before anyone else
is exposed.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  Doc sat behind his desk and listened to Peyton’s explanation. He sipped a cup of the witch’s brew he called coffee and made notes, but he didn’t interrupt until Peyton had finished.

  “The delivery system could have been ingested,” he said, “but I’m willing to bet it’s contact. Regina and Luann are well enough to speak, and they’ve admitted to cutting across the cotton field. Oscar walked through the fields, likely brushing against the weevils and sending the mold into the air.”

  “And Gordon walked through the fields looking for evidence of foul play,” I said. “All of them could easily have stirred the spores into the air.”

  Doc ran a hand through his wild hair. I’d hoped for some exclamations of joy, some jubilation that the source was revealed and now a cure could be found. Doc’s behavior was worrying.

  “This helps, doesn’t it?” I asked. “It’s mold. Like mildew. It can be killed, right? And if the mold is dead, then Oscar and the others will improve.”

  “Mold is tricky, Sarah Booth. Great strides have been made in understanding it. The genetic code of aspergillus mold was cracked in 2005, which may be how this particularly lethal variation was created.”

  He’d said created, as in masterminded in a lab. But that could wait. Curing the four sick people was the primary issue. “There are drugs, right? Pills or injections . . . medical things?” I didn’t like the look on his face.

  “The antifungal drugs themselves have side effects.” Doc looked like a strong gust of wind could knock him over. “We’ve had the patients on steroids . . . Sometimes the damage is irreversible.”

  “But—” But what? Doc would do everything he could.

  “Sarah Booth, mold can have serious consequences,” Peyton said. “Most people aren’t aware of invasive aspergillus.” He glanced at me with pity. “It can attack the vital organs, including the brain.”

  Doc rubbed his cheek, drawing my attention to the stubble on his face. Usually he was meticulous in his grooming, which showed the degree of stress he was under. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “These weevils, where did they come from?”